


A Quiet Byte

by Quipxotic



Series: Monsters and Legends AUs [2]
Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Gen, Vampire Hunters, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 08:29:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8438536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quipxotic/pseuds/Quipxotic
Summary: Sherlock is being chased by creatures of darkness. Can he use his wits to survive or is this the end of Sherlock Holmes?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amindamazed (hophophop)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hophophop/gifts).



Sherlock Holmes ran as quickly as he could down a sidewalk in Brooklyn. Winded, he stopped long enough to catch his breath and look around for his pursuers. Although he saw no one behind him, he had no doubt that he hadn’t shaken them off. He made a mental note to add more cardio to his exercise regimens - perhaps he’d finally take Watson up on the oft refused offer to join her on her morning jogs. Once the pain in his chest had eased slightly he resumed running, taking a right turn down a cross-street to a part of the city catering to industrial facilities. The warehouses here were still meeting their original purposes and had not yet been turned into condos, meaning the risk to civilians would be minimal. The last thing he wanted to do was lead these creatures into some unfortunate couple’s date or a family out for a walk on this unseasonably warm October night.

He made it halfway down the next block before he started seeing things just barely on the edge of his peripheral vision - shadows that were gone by the time he’d turned his head. He didn’t bother stopping to investigate further, he knew what they were already. The fact that they were showing themselves this much meant that they were getting bored with simply chasing him. They were ready to torment their prey and then move in for the kill. On his left he saw a low metal gate between two brick pillars that marked the beginning of a long brick wall. Beyond the wall he could see a few trees and a few old, two-story brick buildings. There, he thought, it would have to be there.

He changed direction and headed toward the gate, which he climbed quickly. As he jumped down to the ground on the other side, he spent a few moments worrying about the alarms he was no doubt triggering. On the one hand they might bring help, but on the other anyone answering the alarms would likely fall prey to the entities stalking him. He heard a noise down the street to his left, at least a block away, and then seconds later the gate rattled behind him. He snorted in derision but resumed running, this time heading toward the largest and nearest of the brick buildings. His pursuers were just showing off now.

Two blows with his shoulder against the door broke the lock to the warehouse; he had no time for the subtleties of lock-picking at the moment. He rushed to the light switch and was gratified to see that the building still had power. The location was less than perfect, the warehouse had old metal girders that formed loft areas on either side of the long rectangular building. And although most of the wood that had formed the floor of the lofts was long gone, what remained could still provided a means for them to get above him without him seeing their approach. 

Sherlock jogged to the back of the warehouse where he felt he had the best lines of sight. Then he turned around and waited. 

For a few minutes he heard nothing but the sound of the wind whistling through the trees outside. Then there was loud ping as one of the banks of lights on the other side of the building flared slightly before going out.

“More parlor tricks?” Sherlock yelled defiantly. If they were trying to rattle him, they’d have to work a lot harder. Another ping, and the next furthest bank of lights went dark. “Yes, yes, I know you’re coming. After all, that was the purpose of the noises you’ve been making and all those sinister shadows chasing me since Vinegar Hill!” He made a fluttering gesture with his hands like a conductor signaling the beginning of a crescendo to an orchestra. “Building the tension, you know?” Yet another ping and the third bank of lights were snuffed out. “Well, it won’t work. So you might as well come out so we can have a chat, face to face. That’s what you want isn’t it? To corner me.” Again he gestured, this time with his arms outstretched. “Well here I am!”

There was silence for a few seconds and then another ping. There were only two more banks of lights to go and then he’d be left in darkness. Time for a new approach.

“You aren’t really vampires, you know.” Sherlock waved a hand impatiently. “True, there are some surface similarities to the old myths, if not to the more lurid, bodice-ripping and blood-spewing versions that Hollywood and the American viewing public are periodically enamored with.” He searched the encroaching darkness for signs of movement but seeing none he continued. “The pale skin, the consumption of blood, the mesmeric abilities, the increased strength and stamina, and of course the resilience when dealing with most kinds of physical trauma. But you’re not victims of a curse or a deal with the devil,” Sherlock took a step forward, “you’re just a virus. A disease. And diseases can be cured.” 

He paused for a moment to see if there was any reaction. A few seconds later he heard a low chuckle from somewhere on the dark side of the warehouse.

“Is that what you’ve deduced?” growled deep voice. “You, the Great Detective? Do you think you are the first to try to explain us away with science? Petri dishes and syringes?” The voice laughed in derision. “They tried that in the 19th century, before they’d even discovered a virus, much less named one.” 

“Ah but I have an advantage that others before me didn’t,” he lowered his voice conspiratorially, “I’ve found a cure!”

“Have you indeed?” Another peal of laughter from the voice in the dark. Sherlock thought he could see the creature now, moving steadily toward him down the middle of the warehouse. “And what, pray tell, do you think you’ve found?” 

Sherlock grinned and shrugged slightly. “I’ve discovered an endonuclease that will target the DNA sequences that give you all of your special skills. Well, the bulk of the credit for the discovery goes to Watson, of course. It always helps to have the skills of a former doctor in such matters. But the result is that a single shot will cure anyone who has fallen victim to this sickness over the last few weeks.” 

“Cure us? Let’s call it what it is, Detective. You’re trying to destroy us.” The dark form moved slightly to the right. “Once the host is bitten it dies to make room for us. And there is no cure for death, even in this modern age.”

“We’ll have to agree to differ, I suppose,” Sherlock replied dryly.

“Perhaps,” said the voice. Sherlock could see the speaker now, a dark shape near the edge of the darkness, although he still couldn’t make out any details. “And how will you administered this ‘cure’ of yours? Do you plan to smile and ask us nicely to stand still? You can hardly hope to overpower any of my kind.” 

“Well if you would be amenable to that, it would certainly make my life much easier. But assuming that you’re going to try to kill me instead, I thought I’d use this.” Sherlock held up his cell phone. 

The dark form laughed again and took a step into the light. It was a man in his mid-thirties wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He must have been handsome once, but his face was now gaunt, his eyes hollow. A thin trail of blood leaked out of one corner of his mouth. “You hope to stop us…with a phone?” 

Sherlock turned the phone around and began to touch icons on the screen. “Not with a phone, no. With an app. One of my Irregulars created it for me - he called it “Quiet Byte,” which is a terrible pun that I disapprove of in the extreme, but needs must.” He flicked the fingers on his left hand as if to dismiss the point. “Anyway, what it does is generate a sound that can’t be heard by uninfected humans but that temporarily renders ‘your kind,’ as you put it, motionless. Then it’s an easy enough task to administer the enzymes we’ve created.”

The vampire looked unimpressed. “Why don’t you try it now? I’d very much like to see this serum…”

“Enzymes,” corrected Sherlock.

“Your cure,” the vampire said with annoyance. He was walking toward Sherlock now, “I would like to see your cure in action. Why don’t you try it on me?”

Sherlock sighed, still holding his phone where he could see it and the text from Watson which read, “ETA, less than a minute.” “I would," he said at last, "but I’m afraid I gave it to someone else.”

The vampire paused and then grinned broadly, his incisors shining white in the remaining light. “Your partner. Well, I have associates of my own who are seeing to her.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure, if I were you. I’ve learned it’s wise never to bet against Joan Watson.” 

There was a loud hiss and the vampire froze, a look of agony on his face. The tip of a wooden stake protruded through his chest where his heart used to beat. As he collapsed to the floor, there was another hiss and then finally a third. A few seconds later, Sherlock heard the sounds of two more bodies falling.

“Watson?” Sherlock called. He was trying to remain calm but there was concern in his tone now. This had not gone to plan. 

“It’s alright, Sherlock, I’m here,” said a familiar voice. Joan Watson stepped out of the shadows, a crossbow nestled against her hip and a quiver of wooden stakes slung over her shoulder. Her wide brimmed black hat was pulled low over her eyes. “And not a moment too soon, by the looks of it.” 

“Indeed. I’m glad you were able to use my cell phone to track me.” Sherlock took the opportunity to put the phone away. “But what about the app and the cure? How did the test go?”

Joan walked slowly toward him. “The app worked just as we hoped, although Mason should work on the range and duration of the sound.”

“And the cure?” Sherlock asked impatiently.

Joan leaned her head to the side as she walked past Holmes and turned to stand beside him, forcing him to turn to look at her. “I administered it.” 

“Come on Watson, stop keeping me in suspense!” Sherlock noticed that her body language was slightly off, but chalked it up to the stress of the situation. “Did it work? Were we right?” 

Joan turned to face him and pushed up her hat. Her eyes were slightly sunken and there was a red glow in them. “No,” she said gleefully and smiled, showing off her elongated incisors. 

Sherlock’s eyes widen in shock and horror. He reached for his phone, but Joan’s teeth were already biting into his neck.

——

The next evening found Joan Watson and Sherlock Holmes sitting companionably together on the roof of the brownstone, watching the moon rise over New York City as they had so often before. But now everything was slightly different.

“I think I know what we missed,” Sherlock mused, rubbing his tongue along his new vampire fangs. “A few more tweaks and we could have discovered a cure.”

Joan reached out and took his hand soothingly. “Yes, perhaps we could have.” She smiled at him. “Or perhaps it isn't a virus after all. Besides, why would we want to cure it now?”

Sherlock grinned back at her. “True.” He looked out over the city again. “You know, I think we should visit some old friends.”

Joan nodded. “Why don’t we stop by to see Marcus for a chat and a…quiet bite?”

**Author's Note:**

> For @amindamazed because she thought up the title and therefore this is all her fault. Sorry that there's not enough Watson in this one, but I hope giving her the last word and making her a vampire queen will compensate. 
> 
> This is still a bit rough - I'll probably be proofing for a while after posting, as per normal, so hopefully I catch most of the errors. Oh and apologies if I used any of the scientific/medical terms incorrectly - it's vampires, I'm making shit up here.


End file.
